As I always came to the conclusion that I wanted to reform, I emerged from my reflections with this solemn formula: "Fetchke, let us be good." And my generosity in including my sister in my plans for salvation was equalled by her magnanimity in assuming part of my degradation.

She always replied, in aspiration as eager as mine, "Yes, Mashke, let us be good." My mother had less to do than any one with our early training, because she was confined to the store.

When she came home at night, with her pockets full of goodies for us, she was too hungry for our love to listen to tales against us, too tired from work to discipline us.

It was only on Sabbaths and holidays that she had a chance to get acquainted with us, and we all looked forward to these days of enjoined rest.
On Friday afternoons my parents came home early, to wash and dress and remove from their persons every sign of labor.

The great keys of the store were put away out of sight; the money bag was hidden in the featherbeds.